


That’s My Heart

by struwwel



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Oops, Pining, or just angst because that’s what I do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/struwwel/pseuds/struwwel
Summary: Till doesn’t dare to ring the doorbell after neglecting an important relationship.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	That’s My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Discussions on how, or under which circumstances, the Lindemann project came to an end on tumblr inspired this super short snippet. I’m not gonna do anything with it, so I figured I might aswell.

He wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up here, sitting alone in his nondescript car parked by the side of this nondescript street. It gave him a bad conscience, because while it looked just like a number of streets all through Prenzlauer Berg, it still wasn’t a random one. It felt secretive and stalkerish being here, sitting here in his increasingly cold car, and looking down the street at that nondescript house. He could have made a call, set up a time, and just walked up to the door and enter if he had wanted to. Instead, he kept staring at the door set deep into a wall like many other walls, and wondered if he’d find the courage to ring the bell. He doubted he would.

But then, driving away without even having tried wasn’t so much opening a can of worms, as closing one. Put the lid on it, sweep it under the rug, hoping it would never rear it’s ugly little heads and beady greedy little eyes. It would create something between them he didn’t want to be in the same room with them, under the carpet unseen but real all the same. It was one thing to commit murder, another to let a friend of ... was it 30 years now? let walk all over the murder scene with being none the wiser.

_ I spend an hour in my car outside your door and didn’t dare to come in. _

Till turned his phone between his fingers, back and forth and forth and back again. Both to calm himself, and because it was 2020, and all it took was a text.

_ Are you home? I’m in the neighborhood. Care for dinner?  _

The neighborhood indeed.

He could call.

_ What are you up to today? _

What if he said no? What if he wasn’t even home? What if he had no time? What if Till was intruding into his carefully crafted space?

_ No problem, I just figured, since I was close ... _

But that was a lie.

_ I’m outside your door. I need a friend. _

And what then?

A frown perhaps. A headshake, exasperation about how impossible and absurd he was being.

_ Why didn’t you just come up? _

_ Because I felt guilty. _

No.

Till sighed and got out of the car before he had the time to think about it any further. The doorbell was as nondescript as everything else about this place, an empty name plate to obscure the true nature of the top level’s inhabitant. Till took a step back, conscious of the camera he knew would be scanning him right this moment, and tried to look as recognizable as possible.

Perhaps he really wasn’t home. Maybe he heard the doorbell but just wouldn’t bother because he didn’t expect anyone and assumed it would just be an annoyance. Maybe he was headfirst deep into some song, recording with noise cancelling ...

The buzz of the door interrupted his thoughts. Till was so surprised he almost missed it, almost let too much time pass before he pushed open the heavy glass.

Maybe the kid was home. Maybe one of the sound geeks working in Richard’s studio, hired to change strings or polish fretboards or some other fancy thing the man was glad to not have to do himself anymore. They would open for him, and send him home empty handed.

In the elevator, the red top level button blinked. It needed a key, or someone upstairs calling it, and Till pressed it quickly, before the time on that ran out too.

The elevator opened into the light flooded hallway with a quiet, hissy breath. Richard leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and amusement dancing in his eyes, framed by the prettiest crows feet Till had ever seen. His smile was wide and happy and full of teeth.

“Well, if this isn’t a nice surprise.”

They had known each other for 35 years, and Richard was so shit at faking emotions it sometimes was like a slap in the face. The wrong birthday gift would be accepted with a skeptical twist of his mouth, and Till had regretted asking for his opinion on his newest hairstyles more times than he could count. If he found something to be excited about it was so impossible to shut him up that it took inhuman restraint to not tape his mouth shut. But this joy right here was so real, the realest thing Till had seen lately, so real it made his eyes water.

“Lindeman is done,” he blurted. “The band is. I’m glad. I’m so relieved it’s over.”

It really wasn’t a lie, but it wiped the smile off Richard’s face all the same.

“Ah, damn,” Richard said and unfolded his arms for a welcoming hug. “That sucks.” Richard was so shit at faking emotions Till knew he meant the sympathy, but not the regret.

“Yeah,” Till said and leaned in. He didn’t want to let go ever again.

_ I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what we have. _


End file.
